My prospects of an autobiography don’t look too promising but there you go.

I once read an obnoxiously upbeat article written by women who “chose to embrace” their menopause. A couple of these women actually took up new hobbies during their sleepless nights. Maybe this will explain why I woke up this morning and found a crochet needle, some yarn and my dog with what appeared to be a bonnet on his head (my sleep medicine affects my memory).

I don’t know when it happened. But over the last few years it’s been coming on slowly; everything from hair thinning to the occasional hot flash. And despite my reputation of being a half glass full kind of gal, this truly does suck. You aren’t going to squeeze anything positive outta me on this one. Toss a little depression into the mix and I feel like a molotov cocktail.

Getting older and having to deal with menopause is about as much fun as being a teenager again, which, by the way, my doctor used as an analogy. She said “Menopause is adolescence in reverse”. OK, I’ll bite but what about the fun teenage stuff? You know, like sleeping in until noon guilt free or the ability to wear 3 inch heels all day or like, having a libido?

I received a gift from the heavens last week. No, I really did. The skies parted, the angels sang and my physician wrote me a prescription for the estrogen patch. This tiny patch is worth its weight in gold, silver, platinum, bricks, rocks and cinder block. You name it.

Upon approaching the counter at Walgreens I said “I know it’s hard to believe but this prescription is for me, not my mom”. The pharmacy tech tilted her head in a puppy like fashion until the look of understanding crossed her face. “I was just getting ready to ask, Miss Hull.” I just wanted to make sure she understood that sometimes women take estrogen at a very young age.

“I’d like to wait for it to be filled” I told her. “We got a waiter!” she yelled out to someone behind her, “Estrogen patch.” Very nice.

As soon as I heard her call for Hull, I elbowed my way up to the counter like I was trying to get out of a burning building. “Cash” I said before she even asked — “here, take it!” My hot little hand stretched out — ready to receive the goods.

I flagged a cab home from the doc’s office and I had that patch slapped on my derriere so fast that poor cab driver didn’t even know what he missed.photo credit: David Jackmanson